Twitchy Tales of the Whale
by NullNoMore
Summary: People do their best to survive on the Whale, in the face of so much loss. It works more or less well, depending. Less well when Lila the OC is involved, more well with Vandham. Deliciously badly when H.B. is involved. Swears, sorrow, and slight fluff. Spoilers to Ch.5/12. All good real things belong to the hardworking geniuses of Monolith Soft, plus 8-4 and Hiroyuki Sawano.
1. Music

**Twitchy Tales of the Whale, Music**

 **A/N: July 2057. With the one year anniversary coming up, people are getting weird on the Whale. Can Vandham solve all the problems being handed to him? And does anyone get their nose broken for them? (Answers: yes, and not today.) Set pre-game, sorrow, swears, spoilers to Ch. 5. All the good stuff belongs to MONOLITH SOFT. The music was composed by Hiroyuki Sawano, but the Bug House crew is mine.**

* * *

The music was blaring down the corridor. He could hear it before the elevator reached the level, could feel it through the deck as soon as he stepped off. A distorted howling cutting through a terrible thumping loop. Snippets of guitar riffs surfaced and disappeared in no particular pattern, some quite juicy, if you could hear it. But it was jacked up so loud it could only make his ears hurt, and his skin itchy.

As Vandham got closer, he realized somebody working there was singing along, or maybe just "whoo hooing" along. A cross between karaoke and scream therapy, but without quite enough weight behind it to cut into the original song, and uneven at that. It sounded pathetic and real, and made him grit his teeth even more. It wasn't that it made the music worse; that was hardly possible. Rather, it reminded him that somebody really wanted to have this noise turned on, and he was there to turn it off. Not a job he wanted to do, not today.

He stopped at the open door of the relay room, unnoticed. One technician was standing by the main board, smacking buttons in time to the beat, occasionally tipping his head back to add to the howl, "One two three four!" Ah, that must be the contestant for White Whale's Got Talent. Vandham recognized him, of course. Gino, scrawny, scars crossing his dark arms and face, a man so short tempered as to be heedless even at his advanced age of, what was it, 30? Also fiercely connected or disconnected to people, depending. In his case, disconnected. Gino hated him. This job was getting even less enjoyable. If there wasn't a fist fight within the next hour, he'd be lucky.

There was another technician, Rosalee, winding up cordage from a pile that reached past her ankles, a real rat's nest of fiber optic cable. She was nodding along, eyes closed, pig tails bobbing madly. Tears were streaming down her face. Next to her, feeding her cord and watching with worried eyes, was a slightly younger and beefier man, Nguyn, a switch hitter from the soldiers they'd crammed onto the Whale, not exactly up to snuff technically but fast and strong and useful to have around. At least he wasn't singing or nodding, but his foot was tapping.

Vandham sighed. He really was not happy to be there. Not that anywhere was right, not today. He was dressed in his ridiculous dress whites, in uncomfortable shoes, and he was not a happy man. Sent on a ridiculous errand, by a ridiculous source, he'd at least hoped to blow off some steam. He'd do that, sure, but he was going to end up feeling guilty about dumping on such a pathetic crew. And that didn't even take into account the inevitable conflict with their fearless leader.

"Brown!" he bellowed. She was nowhere in sight, and the switching station wasn't big enough to hide in.

"I told you and told you, you ain't coming here and …" Gino yelled at him, even before turning. It was a smooth movement, worthy of admiration, as he twisted and grabbed up a heavy tool (claw hammer, what the hell did they need a claw hammer for?) and swung it towards the interloper. It was a smooth move, too, when he spun it to one side and stepped back enough that it cleanly missed Vandham. "What the hell YOU want?"

"Turn that racket off. And where's Brown?"

"Go to hell. It stays." The hammer was down, but not out of his hands, and not forgotten.

"Where's Brown?" Vandham wasn't going to bother arguing with this nutjob.

Gino looked straight up at the ceiling panel and shouted, "LILA!" Loud enough to be heard over the noise. Loud enough to make Vandham flinch even more. From somewhere unidentified and distant came the muffled response, "I can't hear you!" Brown's voice, but the speaker was still nowhere to be seen.

Then Gino smacked a panel control over his head with the hammer. Vandham flinched again, because that was NOT how you treated the infrastructure on the Whale. He would have taken this up, and physically, with Gino, hammer or no hammer, except for the next instant distraction. Above them, a circular grate opened up, and from that same distance of Brown's first response came a confused yelp, rising in volume as someone approached.

Lila shot straight down out of the duct work, head first, like she'd been dropped from some height. Which she had, Vandham realized. She must have been doing some maintenance, resetting the power levels as was so often needed, while using the unauthorized but popular method of turning off the gravity in that section so she could move more easily. Gino had turned it back on, and down she dropped. Unfortunately, she'd been positioned the worst way, and would have had a nasty crash except that Vandham was there to break her fall.

Or maybe not. She'd curled into a tight tuck even as she exited, and probably would have landed on her back and not her face, maybe even on her feet. Instead, she landed in his grip. Once she felt human arms around her, she stopped flailing, and twisted round to orient herself. "Gino, just when I think you can't get more annoying, honestly, and who is… oh." For a moment, she was still, then deftly removed herself from his grasp. She took a formal stance, a polite distance from him. "Chief. What can we do you for?" she said with only the shadow of an embarrassed smile.

Vandham gave himself a quick mental shake. This section, they were a disaster area, and nothing short of a miracle kept them on task and effective. He tried not to think about them, except to dump every loser he got this way, and Lila whipped them into some kind of effectiveness and sent them back, except for the few she kept as her hand-picked crew. He'd ignored the graffiti on the walls of the corridor, "Welcome to the Bug House." Nice. It worked as a warning to whoever wandered down there, unless it worked as a challenge.

"The racket. Turn it off."

"No way! I told you…" Gino was pushing up against her, but she had already placed herself neatly as a barricade between the two men, one that was not going to be moved. She waved Gino back, a blind series of gentle pats or hard smacks, depending on how well they connected with the tech practically dancing with fury.

"Sir, we have a plan. We just need to keep it on until the end of this shift, and we're good." She looked calmly at him, a face made blank and respectful, with just the tiniest coaxing plea in her eyes.

"Off. Now."

Her eyes were wide, brown with sparkles like precious metal, silver or platinum or something unknown. Almost imperceptibly, she twitched her chin out towards the corridor, glanced towards some privacy where they could continue their argument without Gino breathing down her neck. No go. This music had to go off, no question, decided even before the hint of insubordination (in Gino's case, the clear and violent hint). Vandham had stared down Miss Koo at her most winsome, when she was doing her best to coax one favor or another from him. If he could (sometimes) withstand her puppy dog looks, he could withstand Lila. Make that Technician Brown, even easier. He crossed his arms and glowered, ignoring the warning strain across the back of his official uniform.

Lila's gaze wavered, refocused. The complaints of Gino, the snuffles of Rosalee, the whole pounding mess of music, those became unimportant. He hadn't noticed he'd been holding his breath until he saw her expression shift, practically imperceptibly. Not to one of compliance, even further from submission, heaven forbid she should manifest that, but into one of agreement. She gave a small nod, and turned away.

Her arm was around Gino's shoulder, and she was drawing him along with her, towards the control panel. "It's going off. Today. Because it's today. We have to." Her voice was gentle, almost chatty.

Gino was still loud, but he wasn't stopping her. "The hell it is. You promised!"

Her finger had already swiped the screen, and the silence was as real as a bucket of water to the face. A silence filled with a wailing shriek from Rosalee. "You promised! You promised! Ahhhhh!" She flung herself at the control panel, cables trailing behind her like so many tentacles. She was pounding at the controls, but getting nowhere. Lila had lodged her hip firmly but casually against the section that Rosalee should have aimed for, if she could see anything through those tears.

Vandham watched, somewhat aghast, as the three technicians plus one soldier (Nguyn had finally bounced after Rosalee) seemed to form a bundle of grabbing, swiping, and misery. It ended with Gino, now strangely on block-the-sound-control-panel duty, shifting angrily from foot to foot before the panel, and Nguyn standing with hands full of cable, while the two women knelt on the deck. The older woman was rubbing the back of the younger one, who had collapsed with misery, her head in her hands, sobbing piteously.

"Rosalee. I can't keep my promise, you know that. We can't hurt anyone else, right? And someone would misunderstand, and get hurt, and we can't risk that, not today. You gotta see."

"You promised. We're gonna lose him."

"No. Nothing is lost. Everything we did, it's still there. That music, they can't unplay it. It's good, safe." She patted the floor in between them, then returned to rubbing the other's back in slow circles. She lowered her voice. "You know me. I will make this right. When have I ever let you down? Name it. I ask you. When have I EVER not made good in the end?"

"But you promised…"

"So this didn't work out. So what. We're going to have to try something else. There's gotta be a lot of other things we can do, better things. We'll make good on it. His voice will touch every centimeter of this ship, if I have to walk around with a portable speaker and a battery pack. I WILL make good. Do you believe me?"

Rosalee was mumbling incoherently, but she had nodded and her sobbing had returned to earlier milder levels.

Lila rose to her feet, and offered her a hand. Vandham was surprised that the wet-faced tech accepted it, but she stumbled back towards the cables, plucking a ruined coil from Nguyn's hands along the way, and resumed looping it meticulously. Already, Gino and Nguyn were offering ideas on mobile sound productions, bootleg discos, automated rovers with speakers that could roll through duct works.

It was Vandham's turn to give a silent nod towards the corridor. Lila followed him, trotting behind as he stomped towards the elevator. As he waited for its arrival, he growled down at her, "I'm sending someone to make sure it stays off."

Lila looked surprised, and a little insulted. Still, her voice was a model of propriety. "We'll keep it off, all day, as per your orders, sir." She twisted her lips into a slight but wry grin. "Of course we will."

"I do not need somebody coming and claiming that you didn't. You want to defend yourself?"

She sighed and shrugged. "No, sir, you're right. Of course."

"Of course," he mocked. "Expect him within an hour." He had just the fellow in mind, too. He allowed himself his own grin.

Lila's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Clever girl, she knew she was in for trouble. "Please, not Hec…"

He cut her off, sharply. "No." God forbid she should find out that that boy was the one to lodge the first complaint. She'd probably kill the green-eyed man herself, no witnesses, no proof. A quick hiss of an airlock and they'd be down a crewmate. Worse yet, Gino would try, loudly and messily, and fail, and the problem would end up in his lap. "Not H.B. Don't worry, I'll send someone nice. You'll like him. Lara's a friendly guy." He grinned wider.

Her smile quirked a little in response, even if her eyes stayed wary. "I'm almost looking forward to it."

What the hell was taking this elevator so long? He swore he did not build them so damn slow back on Earth. He didn't have anything more to say, and he wasn't exactly comfortable with having her staring at him.

"You look nice, sir."

He raised one eyebrow at her.

"Very, er, distinguished. I'm glad you're representing us, at the memorial today." Her tone was gentle and sad.

"Us?"

"The crew, sir, the engineering staff anyway. I'm glad you'll be there."

"I have to be there."

"It matters." She lowered her head, took a shaggy breath. "Somebody has to remember." When she raised her eyes to him, he could see that tears were not far off, but ones she did not want to shed. Then she said, in a rush, "That's Rosalee's brother. His name was Diego. Is. That's his voice. It's his demo tape, Pride of Bakersfield. We promised her his voice would fill the Whale. Gino thought of it and I did the calculations. If we pump enough sound into this corridor, the vibrations will push enough energy out to touch all of the Whale."

Vandham took only a second to respond. "The numbers are way off."

"Math isn't Rosalee's strong point. At least not for this equation. She's been careful not to double check me, and I didn't suggest it either. The numbers work for our purpose, sir."

"She needs professional help. She's broken." He used the word carefully.

"Not quite. We've been specialing her, sir, don't worry. When she started crying and wouldn't stop, we started watching her. We don't leave her alone, been taking it in shifts. We'll take her in to the center soon, but after the anniversary. The center's just too busy right know, you know that, sir. She'll just get lost."

"They're going to stay busy. There'll be a long tail." He remembered what happened at the 6-month mark, all the names from his team that went down with delayed sorrow at the loss of just about everything.

"Yes, sir. But we can keep it up for another week or so. The music idea was helping, but I know it was only temporary, sir."

"You don't need anything yourself, Brown?" Shoot, wrong thing to ask. Her pride would be the death of her, he knew that already.

Only she didn't snap at him. Worse, the tears that she'd been holding back started to spill out. She raised a hand to wipe them quickly away. "No, sir, just … thank you for representing us, sir, even the ones not here. The things not here." They stood, both of their faces rigid and blank with unexpressed sorrow. Dammit, there wasn't time for sorrow, still, after a full year, 12 months, 365 days of it. Too much to get done, too many more pressing problems to fix.

The elevator arrived finally. Vandham cleared his throat to say goodbye. Instead, he said, "Pride of Bakersfield. Ugh. Where'd they get such a dumb name for such a punk band?"

She gave a watery snort. "They weren't even from there, just some other dinky farm town. Dust and lettuce, and this band. Rosalee said they were going places, but honestly…"

He stepped onto the elevator and turned. "Well, they've gone farther than a lot of other bands, in a way. Keep an eye on your team. I'll warn Lara to help out."

He heard her response before the doors cut off the sound. "Thank you, sir."

He checked his watch. There was about 90 minutes before he'd have to stand by Captain Nagi, listening to the memorial speeches, looking deeply concerned and supportive. Enough time to run yet another unexpected errand, wouldn't take more than a few minutes once he opened up the environmental systems of the habitat unit. Change up that generic elevator music that currently pumped out of the speakers on every lamppost and corner. He'd pick something more peppy, bouncy. Time for a change.

"Pride of Bakersfield. What a dumb name. But that last bit was kind of catchy…"

* * *

 **A/N: The real name of the song is, of course, N周L辺A, by the inestimable Hiroyuki Sawano, track 8 on the swanky flashdrive or track 2, disc 3 of the soundtrack. But I have this head canon of the Whale being built on the California-Nevada border (where that groovy solar plant has gone up, all towers and mirrors), so I'm throwing all of the lower Central Valley at it as well. Three stories in this arc, finally, I'm putting up the Lila material. Then I'll put up a set about Rosalee and Diego.**


	2. Doors

**Doors**

 **A/N: H.B. wants to get someone in hot water, and he thinks he can use Vandham as his tool. Needless to say, that is NOT how it works out.**

 **Set pre-game, on the Whale, probably about April 1, 2057. Swears & fluff (because, Vandham), violence (because, H.B.'s face). **

**All the good material belongs to the hardworking geniuses of MONOLITH SOFT (and love to the localizers, 8-4!).**

* * *

"Let me have your keycard. I think I know what the problem is." The big man held out his hand toward the slender youth, who slowly handed said card over.

"Ah, just like I thought," said the first man, examining the innocent piece of plastic. "Here's the difficulty. It's bent." And so it was, curved almost double after the man had closed and reopened his massive fist. He flicked the mangled card back at his companion.

To his credit, the younger man caught the projectile nimbly. "You just destroyed my…"

"Boy, it's not just cards that get damaged if you shove them in the wrong places. Noses, for example. Or faces."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a list. Jaws. Have I mentioned faces already? I'd hate to forget that."

"You have no right…!"

"Right?" The older man had raised his voice seamlessly into an impassioned bellow. "I'm the chief of this ship and you're lucky I haven't already snapped your sorry neck." At the other's stunned look, he said, once more in a conversational tone, "Add that to the list, by the way."

The younger man's green eyes flickered with unconcealed rage. "I would think that you'd have more interest in the security of this ship and…"

He was cut off, midsentence, by a stinging smack to the head. "You want to suggest I'm a threat to the ship again? Because there is that list."

"I am constantly astonished by the crudeness of this ship," muttered the other, nursing his forehead. But he'd moved out of arms reach before he said it.

"You don't like crude? Too bad, that's what I run on. But I can switch to busting your ass, metaphorically."

"Do you even know what that means?" That comment must have slipped out by accident, because the younger man snapped his jaws shut instantly.

"Try me. You're on Habitation Unit Incinerator duty for the next three weeks, H.B. I hear the auxiliary one's been jammed for a few days, so they'll be expecting you to help clean it out first." The first man smiled broadly, and crossed his arms. This gesture turned him into something that defied description, but 'man-mountain' might just begin to approach it. "Run along, before I throw you down an elevator shaft. Not metaphorically."

As he watched the younger man petulantly storm off, Vandham kept smiling. He'd been keeping that duty empty for emergencies, and he was pleased he'd hit a juicy one before absolutely needing to fill it. Just right for that whining know-it-all.

How the little creep had persuaded him on the importance of checking door security defied explanation. He'd blame it on Eleonora. She'd sent the brat directly to him, passing on his complaint that too many doors were malfunctioning in this section of the ship, and with too regular a pattern for it to be accidental. As they checked door after door, all working perfectly, Vandham had noted the younger man's growing excitement. Not frustration, not disappointment, not relief. H.B. knew exactly when they were due to hit a malfunction, and he could barely control his expression. He wanted it to be discovered, accidentally, by someone of authority, and he didn't want to be the one to officially point it out.

Security aside, Vandham did not like being maneuvered by someone so pathetic. Sure, he played the fool against the captain's cool all the time, that came naturally. He'd tear up a problem, Nagi would suavely put the pieces back together. It was a pleasure to watch sometimes, crewmates tripping over themselves to agree with whatever solution Nagi offered, in the face of the chaos Vandham had created. It worked pretty well, and a good half of the crew never were the wiser. That was not the same thing as being played for a fool. That he was having none of.

Still, the problem had to be investigated. For all his dislike of H.B.'s manners, he respected the boy's focus. There probably was some problem, and if the hint about security was accurate, a problem that needed quick action. Even if he was not going to give H.B. the satisfaction of watching him open that door.

When he was certain he'd heard an elevator moving away, and the corridor was silent, Vandham took out his comm device. A quick swipe assured him that H.B.'s signal was moving upward, hopefully to the main level of the Habitation Unit. More importantly, it showed no other signals in the nearby area, including behind the door in question. Maintenance supply room for the five floors above them, a major depot for mops and degreasers and the highly classified world of cleaning rags. The original contents weren't the problem. He wondered what was. He'd give the lock a try, then bust the door down, a good exercise. He was looking forward to it.

He tapped his card against the lock and the door slid open. Vandham was surprised and just a little disappointed. Huh, either H.B. had been wrong, or he had misread the man. Without thinking, he stepped into the room. The door slid back and locked with a definite click, leaving him in darkness.

Oh shit. The thought that this might just be a trap flickered through his mind. Because he was definitely not alone. Somebody, something was breathing softly in the darkness, located low and still and tucked behind a crate, out of sight even if the lights had turned on. Which they should have, automatically, as soon as he entered the room.

Had H.B. known? _Had he set this up_? Probably giving him too much credit to think that, but something was very wrong here.

Vandham noticed that the room was not pitch dark, a small glow coming from the same area as the breathing. Trap or no trap, he didn't have the patience to play games anymore. Five quiet steps took him around the crate, to find the answer.

"Goddammit Brown, what the hell is wrong with you?!" he exploded.

Technician Brown, asleep a second before, jackknifed to a sitting position and looked around groggily, eyes wide but unfocused. It was clear the moment she recognized her personal alarm clock. Her manner softened and a slightly goofy smile lit up her face. "Chief! What do you want?"

Why did this remind Vandham of theoretical physics class, of all things? He'd hated it, fussy subject that it was, and already clear to him that it had nothing to do with the ideas of engines and flight that were front and center in his young mind. The whole dumb idea of multiple universes, infinite and proceeding along the length of time, that seemed particularly stupid. Until he felt one possible response to her question slip away from him, one reaction, swimming along its own universe that had him first growling, "You, dumbass, you," and then seeing just how sturdy the straps on her tank top were (or on his, for that matter).

He sighed, gave it a mental wave farewell, and sat down on the deck next to her with the grace of a collapsing cinderblock wall. Still, his voice was quiet again. "Explain. What the hell are you doing, sacked out in a closet?" He looked around him. Clearly, this wasn't some impulsive act. Blanket, small battery lantern, a pillow made from neatly folded work coveralls balanced on top of her safety boots. It wasn't a quick nap, either, judging from the mess of her hair and the still sleepy eyes.

"Catching some sleep." Her eyes grew alarmed. "I'm not late for my shift, am I?! What time is it?" She dove for her comm device, placed precisely between lantern and 'pillow.'

"16:30," he growled.

"Oh good." She set the device down, unopened, and relaxed. "I've got a good hour before I need to be there."

"Great. Maybe you'll have time to answer my question." When she blinked at him, he slowly repeated himself. "Why the hell are you sleeping in a cleaning closet?"

He felt another universe spawn and drift, as the answer, "Because I was tired," was not spoken, but clearly considered. Brown was waking up, returning to her proper self. She twitched the blanket a little primly, and almost managed to sit at attention. Instead of a cheeky reply, she said, slowly, "I'm on night shift."

"Yeah. And?"

"And that means I'm off during the day."

"That's kind of the definition. And?"

"If you'd let me finish, sir," she said with a reproving frown. She took a deep breath and finished her explanation in a chunk. "My agoraphobia kicks in worse during the day, even if it's only the artificial day in the Habitat Unit. My assigned room is great, lovely roommates, everything, but it's on the edge of the residential area, and getting there is murder. By the time I get home, I'm a wreck. Leaving to get to work is even worse."

"So you don't bother."

"Pretty much, sir. If I'm off at night, I can swing it, but during the day, I find a quiet corner and sleep there." She trailed off, leaving it to his imagination.

"How long?"

"To be honest, sir, I've been doing it since the first few months."

Vandham set his face in a formidable frown. "That ends. Today. Either bunk at home or don't come on duty." When she hesitated, he intensified his glare. "Understood?" he snapped.

"Yes, sir. I might…"

"At. Home. I don't want to find your corpse cluttering up your station." Her guilty look confirmed his suspicion. He sighed. "And I'll see about getting you different lodging."

"Oh no, sir! I don't want that!"

"Shut up. You're being an idiot."

"Yes, sir."

"Nice we agree on something." His voice shifted. "Not just for the good of the ship. It isn't safe to have people, sleeping here and there. Anyone could have walked in on you."

"The door was locked, sir."

"No, it wasn't."

"I'm quite sure it was, sir."

"You contradicting me, Brown? Because I remember walking right in."

A slight smile flashed across her face. "Oh, that's because it was your card. I set it to open for you."

"What the hell? You expecting me or something?" Because, if she was, then he was going to kill both her and H.B.

"No, of course not, sir. But I figured if you ever had a reason to come in to a room, who was I to say no?" As he tried to figure that out, she explained further, "Same for the captain. And the cleaning crew, although that's on a 5 minute delay. Gives me time to get dressed." At which point, she blushed and tugged the blanket a centimeter higher, but continued just as calmly. "Most of that section knows to call ahead, and I know their schedule, so that's only happened twice."

"You've got it all figured out."

"I do my best not to be a nuisance, sir."

"You are an utter failure at that, Brown. You've just told me, that aside from us privileged few, you've blocked doors for months."

"Only temporarily, and only to people that have no business entering. Who's wanted to come in, otherwise?"

Vandham kept silent. Her eyes narrowed, and she grabbed her comm device again, swiping it into life. A few flicks and she gave a snort of rage. "Hector! That little jerkface! He's got some nerve…" She calmed herself quickly, and shrugged. "Typical, really. He must be bored."

"What idiocy is going on between you two?"

She twisted her mouth like she'd tasted something sour. "Long story."

"My business. Make it short."

She sighed again and laid the device down gently. "I got him busted, back on the Project, when we were still in Nevada. They wanted to know how I'd found out about it, when I first applied."

"How did you know?" He'd been surprisingly incurious back then. Too busy, too grateful for familiar help.

"H.B. told a professor I knew. She told me."

"I keep forgetting that you both went to the same secretarial college."

She wrinkled her nose. "Don't criticize or I'll say some things about that trade school you went to, sir. He told her everything, as far as I can tell. She followed one of two normal responses and got stinking drunk before telling the first person she met. Luckily, that was me."

"What would be the other response?"

"Call security and get H.B. some medical care. 'Hello, the Earth is about to be destroyed by aliens.' Not exactly believable, but unfortunately, she believed him. He was stupid enough to just leave her after that, scared silly. I don't blame her for hitting the bar."

"And you played confessor."

"I repeat: the Project was lucky it was only me. It could have been a blogger, or a politician, or I don't know what. Judging from our current crew selection…" she frowned. Less said, the better. "It could have set off panic or opposition, made it impossible. As it was, you were only forced to take on a single liability. Me." She frowned. "I owe him my life, really. Shame I had to turn him in."

"Your gratitude is amazing. No wonder he wants your hide."

"He wasn't bounced, now was he? He's here, and safe."

"And the professor? The one he wanted?"

"She didn't make the Nevada project. She made Florida, a year later."

The two fell silent. Their sister ship, the Orlando, was a confirmed casualty, destroyed before leaving the lower atmosphere.

"So you ratted him out."

"They were coming to worse conclusions. Other people would have been hurt, sir. Innocent people." She looked very directly at him.

He remembered the hard glances Nagi had given him, back when Brown had suddenly joined the project. He didn't follow up on the question. He shook his head in disgust, nonetheless. "Great. I have a feud of long standing, raging in my department. Knock it off."

"I don't do anything, sir. He annoys me but I try to treat him right."

"Treat him better. If you see him coming, leave him alone. Run, if necessary."

"Will do, sir. Can I …"

"No. Whatever evil thought is lurking there, permission denied."

"Yes, sir."

"Right. Last question, then this is over and closed or you will be in a world of hurt. The doors. How did you do it? And keep it short."

"I'll send you the details, sir. Basically, the underside of the sensor is poorly protected."

"We're going to have to retrofit every stinking door in the ship now. Great." He rose to his feet. "Three minutes, outside." He walked away and out of the room.

Straight into H.B.'s eager face. "Goddammit, boy, I sent you away."

"I wanted to check on something, sir," H.B. responded, eyes glittering with anticipation. He was staring at the cleaning closet door as if he had x-ray vision.

Vandham readied himself for an explosive few minutes, as well as the lengthy and painful explanation to the captain and a lifetime of smirks. Poor Brown, she really had messed things up, and he couldn't even find it in himself to blame her. He heard footsteps along the corridor, from the direction of the elevator. A witness, just peachy, here to save H.B.'s life, because, up until then, murder had been his #1 choice of response.

"Chief! There you are. I've been looking for you, sir. I have a question about the relays."

H.B. gaped as Brown hove into view, around a bend of the corridor. Vandham was made of stronger stuff, and kept a normal glower on his face, although there was a very slight pulse visible in his neck. "Brown."

"Sir. Hector." She nodded to the two men in turn, then stood there, polite and blank.

"You… no, that's inconceivable."

One more possible universe spawned and vanished, but all she said was, "By the way, the cleaning staff figured out the door problem." As H.B. tried not to stutter, and Vandham allowed himself the smallest grin, she continued in great detail about erroneous automatic locking subroutines due to false reported looping of the expected sterilization cycles in unused rooms. It was long, painful gibberish, complete with percentages and random code about pointer *XCX8-4, beautifully delivered in a quick monotone and with a deadpan face. H.B.'s eyes were glazed before she was half way through, when Brown slipped in an aside, meant only for Vandham, "Mind you, maintenance crews, going in and out using the ventilation ducts, that can trigger locks too."

* * *

 **A/N: Eldest Child asks, "Why was it called New Los Angeles, if the ship was built in Nevada?" Answer: "It was on the California side of the California-Nevada border, just outside of Primm. Think how bad the crew would have been if they had called it the New Las Vegas." (Love to all of Las Vegas, go Rebels! And the massive solar array plant on the California side of the border really is just that, and only that. Really. So don't worry.)**

 **Slightly AU, with the ECP project being much more secret for much longer than official canon. Can't go back and fix my whole head (ha, that would take a lot of work). Also, I tried taking out the fluff, but it didn't work. If Vandham's going to access the morphogenic field three times, he'd need a pretty big shock to set it off.**

 **And, yes, they're still watching _Princess Bride_ in 2057, at least these two are. H.B., not so much. Next up: Lila catches the flu or death or something.**


	3. Broken

**Broken**

 **A/N: Technician Brown is broken and needs fixing, because (all main story indications to the contrary) you can't place everyone else in danger when a teammate is falling apart. (Too bad Gino wasn't in charge of psych evals for the crew. We'd have spared ourselves a lot of grief.)**

 **Pre-game, early 2058, about 18 months into the Whale's journey, but with all game spoilers. Swears, because it's Gino and Vandham.**

 **All the good stuff belongs to MONOLITH SOFT, with a special round of love for the localization team 8-4. Lila and Gino are mine.**

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"You got balls, coming to me, telling me this," Vandham barked at the scrawny tech.

"It's your job to fix it. She's broken," Gino repeated.

Vandham slammed the other man against the corridor wall and pressed hard. His voice dropped to a hiss. "Shut your stupid mouth. You say that loud enough and someone's …"

"Someone better do something. It's like she doesn't even really see me. I can't raise her on her comm link, I can't find her when I need her. She's all over the place. It's like she's a ghost."

"She's always been hard to find."

"Not like this. She's gone, Chief. Something's really wrong with her this time. I don't think she's slept or eaten for I don't know, two weeks? I'm not even sure she's stopping for water."

Vandham pulled back and frowned. That sounded all too frighteningly familiar.

Gino kept going. "It's like somebody woke her up and told her about Earth and it's the first time she heard it. She's got that look, like she can't believe what happened, like she can't go on, like she's a robot, like she's broken…"

"I said, shut up about that." Because if Brown had broken, that meant one thing. A quick trip to the Mim Center and a prompt shut-down. No more Brown, no more problem. Because some things they still didn't know how to fix, and they couldn't risk a team member that could put them all in danger.

The tech kept rattling off the things that were worrying him. How Brown was repeating herself, or failing to respond, or just looking twitchy and pale, frightened, even in pain. How she wasn't caring about her team, not as deeply as she had in the past. Sure, she dredged up a smile for the newest additions, but it was a struggle for her to look at them, speak to them. She would stop in the middle of work and stand there, shaking, eyes wild. The list kept going on and on. When Gino himself started to repeat, Vandham finally cut him off.

"Enough. You're telling me the same things. I'll look into it. Where is she?"

The look Gino gave him was shocking in the purity of its gratitude. This was what the man wanted. Not to punish Brown, not to get rid of her, as Vandham first thought. He wanted his teammate fixed, not lost. "Don't know, do I? Maybe the lower floors, like level 8-4? Any place that's quiet, isolated. We have some maintenance due on the atmospheric interchanges. She might be crawling around there."

It wasn't too much later that Vandham made his way to the suggested location. He'd make it a priority to see about this. If Brown had broken, he'd haul her to the Mim Center himself, and hold her hand as they shut her down, and then…

He'd held her hand once, during the first bad weeks after the Whale launched. The ship was a mess, damaged from the attacks, barely finished in the first place. Whole sections kept depressurizing, bulkheads shifted with alarming regularity, the fact that the engines kept steady was not so much a point of pride as one of prayer. He didn't even want to think about the shields, and they should have been the first priority.

Add to that, most of the crew were basket cases, in tears or raging, shocked beyond measure at all that had happened to them. A large percentage had woken up to find themselves on a strange ship, everyone they'd ever loved gone, every place they'd ever walked destroyed. Even the holdovers from the White Whale campus weren't taking the events so well. They'd lived through 3 days of sheer terror, witnessed the attack itself, the escape, watched sister ships being blown to particles. Every moment the exact same fate could befall them. The new kids, the ones who hadn't been on-line for the frantic last days of prep and launch, at least had that much less trauma, but they had that much less warning.

There hadn't been time to deal with it all, fix what desperately needed to be fixed. They managed a triage for repairs, hitting the things that were most likely to destroy the ship first, then worrying about lesser things, like life support. Everything else would happen later. In the face of too few hands, everyone worked around the clock. Thank God the mims were built so sturdy. A person could run day in and day out without rest or food. He'd slept half as many hours as days they'd been up, probably less, when he caught Nagi giving him a careful look during a briefing. A look he'd given the Captain the day before, because he wasn't sure Nagi had gotten ANY sleep.

Death from overwork. Or, perhaps more accurately, suicide. The number of teammates that suddenly became incapable of responding had started to climb in the third week, and if things kept up, they were going to wreck themselves through attrition long before the ship gave way.

Under Nagi's direction, Vandham had instituted a recovery program in the main engine hall that very day, a fancy phrase for shoving as many bunks into his own office as possible, and announcing that every team member was expected to use them for at least 3 hours every day. Don't use them? Off the team, and to hell with how badly they were needed. He made a public show of being one of the first to use them. After a few days, he was always amused to see who made use of it when he was napping himself. Usually the worst holdouts, either most senior or most junior. Early on, he'd swung his legs off his bunk and almost stepped on a nest of 3 environmental specialists, not one old enough to drink, all piled together like puppies on the floor beside his cot. They never even flinched as he tiptoed around them.

They'd put rations and water around the ship, in every main station, with the expectation that they would be used and refilled or the station heads would have to explain. He'd enjoyed some of the more active explanations, really calmed him down even if it made his knuckles sting. And he'd tracked down every crewmate and made sure they rested, or else.

Brown had taken special persuading. Persuading, ha, he'd stormed into the relay station and threatened to carry her bodily up to the room, because she was the last holdout that he could tell. Her team had shown up in a timely fashion, sure, but not a whisper of Brown herself. She'd stammered that she'd caught a nap here and there, but her eyes were dull and not quite focused. He'd enjoyed doing his best to intimidate her, always a challenge, usually a fail, and watched with surprise when she agreed meekly. Meek and Lila, not a great combo. Sour and Lila, sarcastic and Lila, just this side of insubordinate and Lila, much more familiar.

He'd marched her up to the bunks, and stood, with arms crossed as she sat on a cot. And would not lie down. She sat and sat, blinking somewhat blankly. Finally, he sat down on the cot across from her and took her hand in his and gave her a direct order. "Sleep." Which she did, finally. She'd been exact in her use of the recovery room after that, hitting it every day for precisely 3 hours. Never caused him worry ever since. [If you ignored her Bug House crew, their fights and illicit discos, and her tendency towards wandering into random areas on her off-hours, not exactly unauthorized but tolerated because she tended to drop off snacks to startled sections on her way past. Plus the whole door hacking thing, but he hadn't officially acknowledged that.]

The section Gino had directed him to was dim and dusty. Okay, dusty was an exaggeration, but the air had an unused feel to it. Not much need for staff here, it ran pretty much automatically. Now where the hell to start looking? He stood quiet for a moment, on the off chance he could hear something. A whisper of sound led him accurately to a side room, where he found Technician Brown replacing filters with steady but slow movements.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's ooookay," she was muttering to herself.

It was not okay. Her head was hanging without energy. Her hair, usually pulled back in a tight braid, was escaping in whisps of brown and frivolous candy colors (faded green, with some of last month's pink). Her movements were more sluggish than slow. Worse, she ignored the figure in the doorway, didn't turn to greet him first. He almost never got the jump on her.

Gino hadn't been lying to him. She looked broken.

"Brown, I've gotten some bad reports about you." Niceties were wasted, and even after a year and a half, there was too much to do.

She turned, too slowly, and stared vaguely at him. He wasn't sure what she was seeing, if she was seeing. Her eyes were duller than he'd ever seen, and he'd seen her at her lowest, even before the Whale.

"When did you sleep last?"

"I … I'm not sure … maybe …" she stammered, rubbing her face. She blinked rapidly. "I don't know."

"What happened?"

"I don't understand."

"Your friend, Gino," he said, with a hint of sarcasm because he wasn't convinced Gino was anyone's friend, "said you came back from your break and promptly became a zombie. What's up?"

"I … the break, it didn't work out …"

He felt a crawling suspicion as he remembered their last conversation, when she had given her report before that weekend. "You said you were meeting an old friend."

She looked at him, closed her eyes, and shuddered. "It wasn't right. Nothing was right."

"What did he do?" Vandham ground out slowly. Because god help him, he'd see the ship down two members before he decommissioned just Brown.

"He wasn't there. I couldn't find him! No one …!" Her voice was rising almost to a shriek, when she jammed both fists against her mouth and shuddered even harder.

"Are you broken?" he snapped. Stupid. No one admitted to it. But usually, the broken kids, they couldn't even answer a question.

"… I don't know. Nothing was right, I wasn't supposed to …" She covered her mouth again, and looked at him with wide eyes. This time she really seemed to see him. He moved slightly to the side and was relieved to see her track his movement. So maybe she wasn't completely gone.

"You've got 24 hours to get back in shape. Until then, off-duty. Food, water, sleep, comb your damn hair. If you aren't ready by then, you stay off-duty. Permanently."

Her hands were by her side, slack. "Does it matter?"

"Not to me. I got enough to fix."

She nodded, dully. Then she looked at him, with an uncomprehending but piercing stare that gave him the creeps. "Who are you? Really?"

"Are you kidding me?! I'm the one who's gonna bust you if you don't get a move on."

"Who are you?" she said, unmoved.

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm Jack Vandham, chief of this boat, and you are the sorriest excuse for a shipmate I've seen in months. Get. Going."

"Chief. Boat. Yes, that's … that's real."

His worries had been swamped by pure impatience. "Dammit, Brown, I'm about to bust you right now. MOVE!"

"Yes. Okay. I'm going to, um…" At the doorway, she paused. Before he could bellow at her again, she said, mechanically and clearly, "I've cleaned the first four sections, sir, but E and F still need to be exchanged. Could you let Gino know, sir? And if you could be nice about it, please? Because he hates this duty."

Pure Lila, telling him his job, at least with respect to her crew. Maybe she wasn't broken. Vandham snorted. "Not your worry now. Get lost." He pulled the unfinished set of filters without watching her leave.

It was exactly 24 hours later that she showed up, neat and clear eyed and her normal shade of pale with just a hint of shadows around her eyes. "Sir, I followed your orders. Everything. I didn't sleep enough, but I'll do better tonight, and in the future." She looked at him calmly.

He wasn't exactly happy to see her. It had nagged at him all this time. He'd taken a hell of a risk, sending her home to recover, rather than dragging her off to the professionals. Even if she wasn't broken, she might need special care. He'd sent someone to check on her, someone with muscle and orders to do exactly that if he had any concerns. The first reports had come back innocent. She'd made it to her assigned quarters and hadn't stirred all day. Then, the next morning she'd left early, but not unbearably so, and vanished. Oh no, this was not gonna fly. Broken or whole, if he had to hunt her down, he'd junk her no matter what her condition.

"Where the hell did you go?"

"Sir?"

"This morning. You ditched Mara."

She smiled, only slightly. "I did warn him that I was going to shake him. I'm glad it was you who sent him."

"Who else'd give a damn?"

"Hopefully no one." She looked down for a second before continuing. "I went to talk to someone, about what happened, about what I … what happened afterwards."

"Ah. Hope."

"No, not her," she said with another small smile.

"Not the Mim Center guys."

Now she looked shocked. "Heaven forfend!"

"Dammit, Brown, you are the most freak ass sailor the Navy every created. Can't even curse."

"I'll leave it to the experts, sir."

No response to that. He grunted. "So you talked to someone you trust."

She hesitated. "Someone I … know. They know me, and they listened. I'll probably see them again." She shrugged and spread her hands. "Why pretend? I'll see them again, probably every week, until I'm okay, until I understand."

He nodded. When she didn't continue, he finally asked directly. "What happened?"

Again, she hesitated, before saying simply, "There was someone. Doesn't really matter who, but I was sure he was on the Whale, _sure_ of it, sir. It had taken me a while to figure out where he was, but I finally thought I'd get to see him again. That was what I was doing, going to see him. But it turns out, he never made it on board. All this time, he was never here."

"Maybe in the Lifehold…" he started, but she interrupted him.

"I don't need you to lie to me, sir. He's not there. He's not anywhere. He's gone, and I never knew. Which made it really hard for me to trust anything I thought I knew." She looked around the corridor where they were speaking. "This ship, these walls, that's all there is of Earth for me. Nothing else. I don't have any hope for anything else."

He had to ask. Her words were so bleak. "Brown, are you safe to have loose? Rattling around the ship?"

She tilted her head to one side. "Safe, sir? This ship is all I have. I'll do everything for it."

"Plus your teammates, Brown. They're worth something."

She snorted, delicately. "Ask me in a few weeks. I suppose, yes, they're part of the Whale, repair cells or something, I'll lump them in with it."

Not exactly satisfying, but he'd accept it from such a weirdo. But he still had to ask, make sure. "What about yourself? Are YOU safe?"

Another calm but almost questioning look. "Last night, I didn't sleep much. I tried, sir, but I've lost the habit. I will do better," she assured him, before continuing. "When I got up, it was too early, but I didn't want to wait anymore. I realized that I wanted to see what happened today. I don't have much hope, but it seems I still have some curiosity. So I think I'm okay. I need to stick around if I want to see what happens, right, sir?"

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 **A/N: 1) HAPPY BIRTHDAY NINTENDO (9/23/2016)! They don't look a day over 127. I'm baking a cake, and you should too, even if it's belated.**

 **2) If/when I ever get the main arc up, there will be a certain amount of explanation of WHAT exactly happened and WHOM exactly Lila expected to meet (whom? really? sorry, yes) and WHO her mysterious counselor is, but it comes VERY late in that series, because Lila story spoilers. Let's just say, there's more than one clever kid hitting above their security level, but thank heavens they don't all reach the same idiotic conclusions (skunkratprettygarbage).**

 **3) So, SHOULD I put up more of this stuff? Because, trust me, I have a lot of Lila/Vandham stuff, ranging from true detective (with Mara!) to flufffff (without Mara! mostly. shoot me now) to having H.B. get scuffed a little and also the origins of Alexa/Doug BrOTP and the Shield of the Ma-non. But it is fluff driven, if only in the background, so I don't know what the appetite for that is ... oh who am I kidding, it'll go up eventually.**

 **Next time: new single arc, maybe 2 chapters, with OC Rosalee, seen in (Music), and her brother Diego, from ... wait, wasn't he dead or something?**


	4. Sakura

**akura**

 **a/n: Stupid fluff about life on the Whale. What color hair did you choose for _your_ avatar, hmmmm?**

 **Probably set late 2054, maybe even December that first year. Swears (helloooooo Gino).**

 **All the good stuff belongs to Monolith Soft, and their insane character creation options. Too many good choices for hair color, I tell ya. Marie, Gino & Lila are mine, and none of them are Cross.**

* * *

"Dammit, Brown, I need those numbers."

"Yes, sir."

"I told you last week."

"Respectfully, you did not."

"I asked for them."

"Last week. You didn't say this week."

"You should have known."

"They aren't building psychic mims yet, sir."

"Brown…" growled the Chief Engineer warningly.

"I'll get them to you in 15 minutes, sir. You can yell at me when I'm back. 15 minutes. Less if I'm fast."

"You better run."

Technician Brown did precisely that, dodging the incoming shipmate as the two almost collided in the doorway. "'Scuse me, Hector. Gotta go."

H.B. narrowed his eyes, as if following the already absent crewmate's mad dash. "I see that her hair finally matches her manner."

"Meaning it's super cute, right?" replied a woman, flat on the floor and pulling communications cables, handing it up to an older man. She paused, hands full of the glowing cables, and pushed a loose strand of crystal white hair from her face. "Because I thought it looked great."

"She looks like a clown."

"Whatchu wasting time for, talking about hair?" muttered the third technician. Even when friendly, the scars on his face made him look aggressive. Right now, he was hardly friendly.

"It's pink. It looks ridiculous."

"It isn't all pink, and it looks fine. You're just stuffy. Stuffy stuffy stuffy," teased the woman.

"Marie, the things I could tell you about that … that …"

"She's probably just trying to impress some guy. That's why I'd change my hair."

H.B. looked more than a little shocked. "You'd change your hair to that color? To get attention?"

"Maybe a softer pink. Cherry blossom. I bet I'd look hot." She peeked from under a control panel and smirked up at the aghast H.B.

"Shut the fuck up about hair and pink and all that crap!" exploded the third tech suddenly. "H.B., man, if you aren't gonna help with the repairs, get the hell out of my life!"

Vandham looked down from the ceiling tile he was currently trying to coax back into place. "Gino, watch that mouth. Everyone else, what Gino said."

Silence descended. Mostly. There was a soft snap and a satisfied grunt as the notoriously brittle ceiling panel fit into place. Gino was muttering something, possibly. H.B. was breathing very precisely through his nose. Otherwise, silent. So the opening of the door and the return of Technician Brown was almost shockingly loud.

"Nine minutes, ha!" she said cheerfully. "If I can have your comm device?"

Vandham held it out. While she swiped the information this way and that, he said, "You could have just shot it over to me."

"I like to know that things get there."

"Don't trust me much, eh?"

She didn't look up from the numbers. "Sir, there's a lot of things I don't trust. You're not one of them. So, and done. If you want them every week, I'll get them to you. You just have to ask."

"You wanna help pull the communications grid here?"

"Anything, sir. Absolutely. Pulling from under the panels, right?" She dropped to the deck and wriggled in next to Marie. "Want me to start over here?"

"Thanks." They worked steadily for a minute. "So," began Marie, "who's the guy?"

Lila didn't notice the subsonic growls of all three men. "What guy?"

"The guy you're trying to impress. Your hair, right?"

Lila's hands slowed. She blinked a few times before laughing. "There's no guy, Marie. I just wanted to have something bright in my life. Everything feels so grey right now." Her hands stopped then, and she had to gulp suddenly. "I … I just wanted a little more color. I'm doing my best …"

"If this job isn't done by the time I'm back, I swear I will see you all working extra shifts, all weekend long. Split shifts. Now, shut up and focus." With that gentle encouragement, Vandham exited the room.

Leaving the four of them with more silence and their own thoughts.

Gino thought of airlocks, and how very silent these idiots would be if he shoved them out into space. Almost worth the trouble he'd get into. Almost.

Marie enjoyed a ridiculous daydream, featuring the most delicately hued hair style, and an abject H.B., on his very knees, swearing that Marie was practically a divine goddess, that only his foolishness had ever made him pretend otherwise, but that he could no longer resist in the face of her springtime tresses.

H.B. composed a precise statement in his head, formally opposing the continued vanity shown by the possibly only representatives of humanity. He was certain that if he found the right wording, he would be able to convince them of his position. At least Marie would be sensible enough to see it. Gino and Lila were probably beyond hope, but a good essay would be enough to keep Marie from polluting that pristine hair of hers.

Lila was thinking very carefully about nothing beyond the work at hand. Even thinking about lunch was dangerous, because then you started comparing the pizza on the ship with real pizza from …. She shook her head slightly, and focused on the communication lines. 95 minutes until she needed to get back for the shift change at the relay station, 14 panels to go, they'd never make it. Split shifts were actually something she didn't mind, gave her a legit excuse to crash in the work areas instead of heading home. Still, it was a challenge. Let's see how close we can get to done.

Many decks away, Vandham wasn't thinking about his subordinates at all. But his eyes felt better for a little splash of color, and his brain hadn't forgotten the exact shade of pink.

* * *

 **a/n: I do not have any explanation for this fluff. Plonk. Another random OC, we'll see if Marie demands a backstory or not. At least no one hit H.B. this time.**


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